Zona Desmond pinched her cousin.
“He didn’t hit it that time,” she said.
“That’s all right,” confidently returned Bessie. “I have seen him get a hit lots of times after two strikes were called on him. It seems to put him on his mettle to have two strikes on him.”
Dustan had a “good eye,” and he refused to wiggle his bat at the next two balls, both of which were wide. Then he saw Merriwell make the same movements as he did on delivering the first ball, and instantly Dustan calculated on another straight one. Apparently he had made no miscalculation, but the ball took a sharp drop just in time to prevent him from hitting it.
“Two strikes!” sang the umpire.
“There he goes! There he goes!” laughed Zona, giving Bessie a little shake. “What do you think about it now?”
“I think just the same,” was the confident answer. “Even if he doesn’t get a safe hit, he will hit the ball.”
“Do you believe he will hit it, Doris?” asked Zona.
Doris did not reply. In fact, she did not hear the question. Her eyes were fastened on Dick Merriwell, and she was deaf to the words of her nearby friends.
“Ye-ee-ee!” squealed Tubbs, once more prancing about awkwardly. “What you trying to do, captain? Why don’t you give us fellers a show? We’re all going to sleep out here!”